Lisa
Jennie's public presentation persona could use a little loosening up, but the speech went over well. The audience was warmly polite, and no one demanded her to answer questions about the near-arrest.
I considered it a lukewarm positive.
By the time I was done cracking her lovely, hard-shelled exterior, I had a feeling the world would be falling for Ms. Jennie Kim. I just had to figure out where exactly she kept her humanity hidden.
While two hundred and fifty women dug into their Caesar salads, I pulled Jennie out the side door of the ballroom where Alison was waiting with my car.
I slid into the back with her and reached over the front seat.
Alison's fingers drummed on the wheel in time to a sexy salsa number from a playlist she'd synced to my vehicle.
"Would you prefer the lime chicken or the tuna salad?" I offered Jennie both containers.
She blinked. "Oh. Ah. I'll have the chicken."
"She asked for your favorites, just so you don't think she's big-dicked, gorgeous, and psychic," Alison said, easing down the alley.
A smile flitted around Jennie's pink lips.
"So, how did it go?" Alison asked.
"I got pity applause." Jennie sighed, the smile evaporating.
"Better than a boot to the face," Alison said cheerfully.
"You did very well," I assured Jennie. "It takes a while to win trust. This was just a baby step in the right direction. Next on the agenda…" I said, taking my readers out of my pocket and skimming the calendar on my phone.
"The lab," Jennie announced through a mouthful of food. She sounded a little livelier, and I was curious if it was the food or the anticipation.
"Tell me more," I urged, removing my glasses and tucking my phone away.
She dropped her fork neatly in the container. "Eighteen months ago, we discovered an interesting phenomenon involving the moisture barrier of scarred skin," she began, and it was like the sun had lit her from within. "Stop me if I get too technical."
Alison smirked in the driver seat and then tapped the brakes hard when an elderly man with a walker sauntered into the street from between two parked cars.
"You don't have much time left! Stay on the sidewalk," Alison yelled through the open window.
"The moisture barrier is what holds our skin cells together," Jennie continued, immune to traffic issues. "Like glue or caulk or mortar. But what we were seeing on scarred tissue is that the moisture barrier itself was damaged. So we started experimenting with ways to reinvigorate it. Fast forward to the present, and we have what I believe will be a new way of treating and essentially healing scars."
"That's big," I observed.
She awarded me a smile and not one of the toned-down, proper ones. This was a light-up-her-lovely-face grin. Wow. Was that an angels' chorus I was hearing?
"It is," she agreed. "We're testing these biobandages on three subjects. One is an athlete who had ACL surgery a year ago. Another is an early twenty-something with severe acne scars on her face. And the last is a domestic violence survivor. Her scars are particularly challenging."
"Because?" I pressed. I was interested in what she was saying and how excited she seemed by the subject.
"Age of scarring, for instance, is a hurdle most topical treatments can't beat or improve effectively. The older the scar, the more difficult it is to make it less noticeable. And Mallory, our subject, has scars that are old and very deep. The scientist in me is crossing her fingers for an improvement. The human being in me hoping for a miracle for Mallory."
I had literal fucking goosebumps.
"When you say 'we'?" I prodded.
"My team. This is my lab facility," she said as Alison pulled up to an innocuous white stone building. "We have systems biologists, chemists, research scientists, and lab techs. This is where all our products are developed and tested."
"Oh, God. I'm not about to walk into a room with fifty beagles in cages, am I?" I asked. That would be the end of our professional relationship, no matter how lovely her smile was.
In an uncharacteristic move, Jennie shoved my shoulder. "No animal testing," she said primly. "The lab at school was an emotionally scarring experience. Irene and I vowed that we would never test products on animals. It's also part of why Chaeyoung and I are friends. Her cosmetic company Wild Heart is vegan and cruelty-free."
"So the testing is more expensive and probably takes significantly longer," I predicted.
Jennie nodded, reaching for her door handle. "Yes, but this way I can sleep at night knowing that I don't have a bunch of sweet rats or dogs caged up just so I can make another billion."
"In that case, we can still be friends," I told her.
"Goody." She rolled her eyes and got out.
The lab was, from my uneducated assertion, state of the art. There were several fancy-looking workspaces. Everything looked new, pristine. Stainless steel sparkled, work tables gleamed, and an entire herd of scientific-looking people bustled about looking important and scholarly.
"Here," Jennie said, handing me a lab coat. "Put this on." She was already wearing one and had pulled her hair back into a no-nonsense bun. I liked the look more than it made sense.
I shrugged into it and decided to wonder what exactly it was that attracted me to her later. I didn't have a type. I loved women, period. It was quite possible that I was seduced by the puzzle as much as the woman.
"Do I look science-y?" I asked, smoothing a hand over the fabric.
"You look protected from spills," she said with a smirk.
"You look excited," I observed, slipping my phone into the pocket of the lab coat.
She bit her lip in adorable nerd-like excitement, and the attraction went from a zing to a thump. "I am," she confessed.
"This could be a revolutionary product for your company."
"This could be life-changing for Mallory," she countered.
I followed her through the bowels of the lab into a smaller, brightly lit room. Her subjects were seated at the front of the room. A photographer was setting up his lighting equipment. The rest of the inhabitants were an odd mix of business-suited executives and lab-coated geniuses. Everyone seemed excited.
"Mind if I talk to the subjects?" I asked Jennie.
She was frowning over some data on an iPad a tech had handed her. "Sure. Be nice," she said.
As if I would be anything but.
"And don't record anything," she said.
"You're ruining my fun," I complained.
"The patent is pending, and the subjects have a right to privacy," Jennie said. "Don't screw with me or them."
I introduced myself to the participants. Nervous and energetic Nina was twenty-three and had a flesh-colored bandage on both cheeks. Dewayne wasn't just any athlete but the star point guard for the Miami Buzz. His last season had come to an abrupt end due to a ligament tear and knee surgery.
And Mallory, who was, by best guess, in her mid-forties. She sat with ruler-straight shoulders. Her long hair was swept over the left side of her face. When she looked up at me, I saw why. Her bandage molded around her jaw up to hug the line of her nose. Her perfunctory smile made me think she'd rather be anywhere but here.
"What are you hoping to see once the bandages come off?" I asked Nina.
She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "I want to be normal. I don't want to have to spend an hour every day covering up acne scars or hours on the weekends scouring YouTube for new products or solutions. You know? These stupid scars are getting too much of my life. I'm over them."
I moved down the line. "How about you, Dewayne?"
He leaned his big frame back. "Man, I just want to leave last season behind me. You know? Blew out my knee. Had the surgery. Now I'm training. I wanna come back faster and stronger. I don't want to live with this big-ass reminder of the worst moment of my career carved into my knee."
"And you, Mallory?" I said.
She was silent for a long moment, and I thought maybe she wasn't going to answer me. "I just want to see an improvement," she said softly. "I'm not greedy. I'm not asking for perfection or for what I looked like before. I just want my scars to be better. I'm better. I want my face to reflect that."
Jennie joined us, giving me a suspicious look. I held up my hands to show her that I hadn't recorded or stolen anything.
"Are you three ready?" Jennie asked, shifting her attention to her subjects.
They nodded, and she ran through the details. "The sensors we embedded under the bandages have been monitoring for things like moisture and bacteria. That data looks great. We're all excited to see what the visible results are. Does anyone need a drink of water or anything before we get started?"
No one did, so Jennie asked everyone in the room to take their seats.
"Don't be nervous," she whispered to Nina when the nurse began to gently tug at the edge of the first bandage.
Nina blew out a breath and squeezed her eyes shut as the nurse efficiently peeled the bandage back.
She was telling Nina not to be nervous, but the way Jennie flattened a hand to her own belly told me she was the one experiencing nerves. But the moment passed, and the bandage was loosening.
I could see by the spark in Jennie's eye, the parting of her lips that indicated she liked what she was seeing. Her hand left her stomach.
"Let's take the other one off, too," Jennie said, leaning in.
"How does it look?" Nina asked, trying not to move her lips.
The crowd in the room laughed gently, and the photographer danced his way in and out, capturing reactions.
"It looks good," Jennie said. "Very good."
"Good how? Good like I won't need to spackle six layers of pore eraser on every day?"
Jennie signaled to the back of the room, and Nina's before pictures appeared on the screens behind them.
"Goodbye to foundation good," Jennie said, handing the girl a compact mirror.
"Holy shit," Nina gasped. The room rumbled with laughter again as the occupants craned for a better look.
"Let me just take these quickly," Jennie said, snapping a photo of each side of Nina's face. Moments later, the new images appeared on the screens side-by-side with the before angles.
The difference was nothing short of remarkable. Nina's red labyrinth of scarring had become healthy pink like she was fresh from a facial. Even the ice-pick-like scars were more even as if the skin had miraculously resurfaced itself.
"Holy shit," she said again, looking at the photos. "I can't believe it!"
She surprised Jennie with a bouncy hug, and Jennie's laugh was buoyant. My fingers itched to capture the moment.
"Come on, guys. Me next," Dewayne insisted.
The nurse slid her wheeled stool in front of him and went to work on the bandage on his knee.
"Come on, big money," Dewayne muttered like a mantra.
The nurse's self-satisfied smile gave it away. Jennie punched her fist into the air, one moment of unadulterated satisfaction. This was her three-pointer. Her game-winning buzzer beater.
Dewayne's dark skin was glossy with residue where the bandage had been. The jagged surgical scar had been reduced, smoothed. The discoloration evened. It wasn't perfect, but it was very damn good.
Dewayne jumped out of his chair and did a little boogie, pulling Jennie into it. She laughed, light and easy. The joy of accomplishment flushing her cheeks.
Nina was busy snapping selfies, and Dewayne insisted on getting in on the action. I made a note to find and follow their social media accounts.
Mallory, meanwhile, sat with her jaw tight, staring at the floor in front of her.
"Mallory," Jennie said softly. "It's your turn."
"I'm afraid to hope," she confessed in a voice barely above a whisper, and my heart broke into pieces for her. The damage humans could inflict on one another remained an awful mystery.
Jennie sank down in front of her. "You are seven years out of a relationship that could have killed you. You got your master's degree and landed the job you always wanted. You put your kids through private school. And you make damn fine pottery on the weekends. Scars or not, you are hope."
I felt my throat tighten uncomfortably when Mallory linked her fingers through Jennie's. She nodded. "Okay. Let's do this."
The nurse worked slowly and carefully. I could feel the room behind me holding its breath. Tension grew. Anticipation. Hope.
"Oh, my," the nurse said, dropping her professionalism. "This looks very good, Mallory."
"Really?"
Jennie couldn't contain herself and leaned in.
Reaching behind her, she held out a hand. A psychic lab tech handed over the camera.
"Mallory?" Jennie said as she snapped a picture.
It popped up on the screens, and everyone in the room inhaled sharply.
"Yes," she whispered. Her eyes were squeezed shut.
"Open your eyes."
The nurse held up the hand mirror, and Mallory opened her very lovely green eyes. They widened with shock.
The scar had been an ivory path carved from jawline to nose, splintering under the eye in a spiderweb of trauma. Now it was… smaller, thinner, smoother. Some of the threadlike splinters had vanished completely.
"This is after one week, Mallory. Imagine what three weeks will look like," Jennie said as the woman before her took a shaky breath.
Mallory turned to look at the pictures. She was nodding slowly, slowly. And there was a small, tender smile playing at the corners of her unpainted mouth. Acknowledging a new reality, a new future, that Jennie had given her.
Yes. There were some members of the human race who made it their duty to tear others down, tried to destroy them. And then there were the Jennie Kims of the world. Ones who cared and fixed and tried to make things better.
Was that sweat stinging my eyes?
I glanced around. It appeared that everyone had sweaty eyes. Or allergies. People were blowing their noses while others wiped their faces with their sleeves.
Mallory was hugging Jennie now. A hard, tight embrace more powerful than any words of thanks.
My client was a motherfucking genius, and if she kept smiling like that, I was going to have a problem not falling hard for her.